


Performance Review

by Wenderful52



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: An Invincible Summer, And Winter Came..., F/M, Fluff, Fun, Legolas Ion nîn, M/M, Two Thrones, What Makes a King, Writers/Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wenderful52/pseuds/Wenderful52
Summary: After enjoying my Christmas, I received a mysterious summons to Bard's Castle...***This work is part of an the ongoing "Two Thrones" series - you'll need to read the previous installments to understand everything.





	Performance Review

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leemitage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leemitage/gifts), [TheMirkyKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMirkyKing/gifts).



I had enjoyed a nice, if quiet, Christmas.

I spoke to every member of my family, FaceTimed with relatives so I could enjoy watching my grandchildren find out what Santa had left them.  Christmas dinner was wonderful (New York Strip Steak) after which I spent the rest of the day relaxing with friends and snuggling up with my little dog.  It was perfect.

The next morning, I was back to my regular morning routine.  I’m not a morning person, so I armed myself with my usual coffee, and settled in front of my laptop, where I proceeded to do my usual ten minutes of bitching about our current President.  Then I checked Messenger to see what was new with my friends, scrolled through Tumblr for about fifteen minutes and enjoyed the artwork and graphics, then I checked my emails.

“What the hell?” I muttered, as I found the following in my inbox:

 

> _To: Wenderful52_
> 
> _From:  Bard I, King of Dale_
> 
> _Date:  25 th of December; 2943, T.A._
> 
> _Cc: Thranduil Oropherion King of the Woodland Realm_
> 
> _Subject:  Yearly Evaluation_
> 
> _Dear Wenderful52:_
> 
> _On behalf of myself and my family, I extend my best wishes for a joyous Yule to you and your family, and wish you a prosperous New Year._
> 
> _As the end of the current year approaches, my husband and I believe it prudent to meet with you for an Annual Performance Review, to discuss what the next year might possibly bring, and the direction in which your series will go._
> 
> _Please print out this email, and present it to the Guards at my Castle in Dale at 3 p.m. on December 27 th.  I do not believe this will take more than an hour or two of your time, so I doubt you will need to bring luggage for an overnight stay._
> 
> _We look forward to seeing you there._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Bard, son of Brand, heir of Girion, King of Dale_

 

I sat back in my chair, completely gob-smacked.  Why would _any_ of my characters believe they need me to evaluate their performance?  I’ve been happy with _all_ of them, thus far; the heroes were heroic, the kids were cute, and even the villains were exceptionally evil and went to their deaths without complaint!  Do they really they need some positive feedback?

“Maybe they do,” I shrugged. 

So, I got up to get some more coffee, downloaded some evaluation forms, and spent the rest of the day filling them out for each of my major characters.  When I filled out Bard’s and Thranduil’s, I made a point to write, _‘needs to give me more time to prepare’_ in the comment section. 

 

The next day, at precisely 2:45 p.m. I presented myself at the Main Entrance of Bard’s new Castle. 

“Good afternoon;  I’ve been summoned before the Kings and company.”  I handed the memo I had received to one of the Guards at the Gate, along with my driver’s license.  That was a mistake.

“What is this?” They asked.

“Oh, I know,” I smiled.  “No one ever takes a good picture for their license.”

“I do not understand,” one Elf was holding the card up. “What is…Indeeayna?”

“Indiana,” I corrected.  “Never mind,” I took the card back.  “It’s just something people ask to see in my world.”

“Are you a witch?” One of the Elves asked. 

“No, I am your creator, and if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have a job.  Now, please let me in; I need to speak with the Kings.”

“Yes, My Lady,” the Elf bowed courteously, “they are gathered in the conference room.”  He ushered me inside to the Main Hall,  “Wait here, please, and someone will be here to escort you.” He indicated a cushioned red chair, then returned to his post.

I sat down and wiped my palms on my slacks, then foraged around in my purse to grab my makeup bag. I quickly powdered the shine off my nose, checked my teeth for food particles, and smoothed down my hair.

As I took in my immediate surroundings, I couldn’t help the swell of pride in my chest. This place was _perfect;_ simple in design, yet impressive; a perfect reflection of its owner.

“Are you Wenderful52?” A young woman came down the stairs, toward me.

“I am, at your service.”

The maid bowed her head and curtsied.  “We’re honored to have you, My Lady.”

“Thank you, but the honor is mine.” I smiled at her eager face.  “How do you like your home?”

“Oh, I love it!  We all do!”

“I’m glad,” I smiled.  “Are you here to take me to the meeting?”

“Aye, Ma’am.  Follow me, please.”  She led me through the Main Hall to the wing where King Bard’s study was, along with the offices of several members of Dale’s Council.

“Here you are, My Lady,” She led me to a set of tall double-doors, curtsied again, and was gone.

“Good afternoon, My Lady,” the guards outside the door bowed. 

“The same to you,” I nodded to them, and handed them the printed email. 

 “Right this way,” they opened the doors to reveal a large room with a polished table surrounded by comfortable chairs which held the Kings, Galion, Hilda and Percy; Sigrid, Bain and Tilda; Rhian and Daeron; Turamarth, Ivran and Ruvyn, and Ermon and Elénaril. 

The men stood up to greet me.  “Thank you for coming,” Bard said.  “Please; take a seat.  Can I get you anything?  Tea?”

“Just some water, thank you.” I said as I opened my briefcase and removed the stack of papers.  “I admit, I was surprised to receive your request, but I’ve managed to write down some cursory observations.”  I folded my hands on the table and began.  “I’ve been thrilled by every single performance in my story!  You’ve all gone over and above anything I ever expected—”

“Um,”  Bard interrupted.  “You’ve misunderstood the purpose for my invitation, Wenderful.”

“I have?”

“Yes.  You see,” his arm swept around the room to indicate the others at the table, “ _we_ want to give _you_ a Performance Review.”

“I beg your pardon?” I sputtered.  “How can you do that?  You’re _my_ characters!  Yes, many of you were created by Tolkien, but some of you are my own creation, and I don’t see how—"

“Easy,” Sigrid said.  “ _We’re_ the ones who have to act the way you write us, and I think – we _all_ think - we should have a say in what we do next year.”

“That’s right,” Hilda nodded. 

“Have you been unhappy with what I’ve given you, Hil?” I was incredulous.  “Everyone in Dale loves you!  You’re the glue that keeps this family functioning and I don’t understand—”

“That’s true, and I’m grateful, but could you make me thinner?  And maybe we could ditch the grey hair; it makes me look middle-aged.”

“But you _are_ middle-aged!” I argued. “And besides, what will everybody in Dale think, when you suddenly look so different?”

“You don’t have to write them surprised at all, do you?  Why can’t you just have them act like it’s normal?”

“My readers aren’t going to understand, Hilda.  They’re used to you as a middle-aged dynamo who keeps your family together!”  I pounded my hands on the table in frustration.  “I was going to have a statue made of you, for Chrissake!”

Hilda was taken aback.   “When?”

“After you die, I was going to write a lovely ceremony—”

“Auntie Hil is going to die?”  Tilda’s lower lip trembled.  “You can’t kill her!”

“Don’t worry,” I tried to soothe her, “she’s going to be with you all for a long time.  Then I’ll have her pass away peacefully in her sleep, so she can be with your Uncle Percy.”

Percy’s ears pricked up.  “So, when are you going to kill _me_ off?” he folded his arms.  “I don’t like this, lady; not at all.”

“Again, not for a long time.” I tried to keep my voice patient. “You’ll remain at least another ten years—”

“And what kind of funeral?”

“Well, I don’t really know just yet, but…”

Bard interjected, “Just to save time, can we limit ourselves to storylines she’ll write in 2019?  Otherwise, we’ll be here all day!”

“I agree, _Meleth nîn_.” Thranduil smiled at his husband, then he turned to me.  “I must say I was disappointed not to be invited to your house for Christmas, dinner, like we were last year.”

“Me, too,” Percy said.  “I was looking forward to spending the afternoon in your BarcaLounger again.”

“And Bain and I wanted to finish playing that video game!” Legolas frowned. 

“Oh, god,” I buried my head in my hands.  “Please don’t talk about that.  It was a disaster!”

The Elvenking frowned.  “We all had a wonderful time!”

“What I meant to say was, _you all_ had a wonderful time, but...” my throat tightened, and my eyes began to sting.

“What happened?” Sigrid asked.

“Never mind.” I shook myself. “I’ll tell you what; we’ll do something next year, all right?  I’ll re-work the whole story, and we’ll give it another go; how does that sound?”

“Fair enough,” Bard nodded.  “What do you think, love?”

“I am satisfied,” the Elvenking smiled.  “What are your plans for my husband and myself for this year?”

“Well, you two will still be around, but my focus will be on some other storylines, involving Legolas, and Turamarth.”

“Me?” Tur’s eyes widened.  “What about me?”

I grinned at the Guard.  “You’ve been feeling at loose ends since Daeron and Rhian began courting—”

“Oh, Tur,” Rhian frowned.  “I’m sorry if we made you feel left out.”

“Oh, it is fine; you and Daeron need to focus on each other and Darryn.  It was bound to happen.” He patted Rhian’s arm, before looking back at me.  “What will I be doing?”

I smirked, “You met someone at Daeron’s and Rhian’s wedding, right?”

Daeron smirked.  “You mean, Orlin’s sister from Lothlórien?”

“Yes…”

“I knew it! Ha!”  Daeron laughed, and held out his hand to Ruvyn.  “Pay up, Lieutenant!”

“ _Amarth faeg!”_   Ruvyn muttered as he handed over a small pouch.

“Oooh!” Tilda clapped her hands.  “I can be a flower girl again!”

“We’ll see,” I told her.  “He’s got to work through some things before we think about something like that.”

“What about me?”  Legolas asked. 

“Uh, I named the next work in the series after you?” I reminded him. 

“I understand that, but I was wondering about something else,” he was bemused.

“What’s the problem?”

“Will I end up with Tauriel?”

“No.  That would be too predictable, and I have plans for her.  That doesn’t mean you’ll be alone all your life, just not now.”

“Are you sure?” the Elven Prince’s face fell.

“I’m sure,” I said, gently.  “If you search your heart, you’ll understand the truth of what you mother said, back at the Summer Solstice.”

“I remember,” his eyes lowered.  “I was still kind of hoping.”

“Exactly.” I nodded my agreement.  “Lord Thranduil?  Do you have a question?”

“If we cannot be part of the main storyline,” his eyes caught Bard’s then back a me, “could you make sure we still have plenty of sex?”

 “ _Ada!”_ Sigrid quickly put her hands over Tilda’s ears.

“Oh, gods!” Bain shuddered.  “Gross!  You two are always making googly-eyes at each other!  Can’t you guys control yourselves?  Geez!”

 “I hope you’ll do the same with Rhian and myself.   I am _all_ for more time in the sack,” Daeron was enthusiastic.  “I think Wenderful’s ‘Elf Thing’ was genius!”

“I agree,” Rhian leaned her head on her new husband’s shoulder.  “I love it,” she said in a dreamy voice.  “And I love you, for writing him so… _huge.”_

Daeron said nothing, but his chest puffed out with pride.  His ears were red, right to the tips.

“What’s a ‘Elf thingie?’” Tilda pulled her sister’s hands away.

Everyone at the table turned toward me.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I put my hands up.  “She’s _your_ kid and I’m not doing the ‘birds and the bees’ talk for you.  I’ll see what I can do, Thranduil.”

“That is all I ask, My Lady,” the Elvenking gave me a small smile.

“And you two,” I faced Rhian and Daeron, “did you want anything else?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” Rhian said.  “Thanks for writing Iris’s arrival three years from now; I want some time with my husband, before we add to the family.”

“Aww,” I smiled at her.  “I’m so glad you liked your wedding and wedding night; you both deserve it.”

“And thank you for _my_ new wife,” Ben lifted Hannah’s hand and kissed it.  “She’s a grand girl, and I’m lucky to have her.”

“Yes, thank you,” Hannah seconded.  “We’re very happy.”

“That’s wonderful!” I clapped my hands together. 

“Wenderful?” Tilda piped up.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I was afraid with those men took us away in that wagon last year.  Why did you have to make that so scary?”

“Drama and angst are essential to every good story, dear.  I’m sorry to put you all through that, but I did arrange it so you could be well again, didn’t I?”

“I suppose…”

“And you love your new puppy, don’t you?”

Tilda giggled. “She snores like Thangon, but not so loud.”

“All pugs do that.” I smiled.  “Okay, gang; who’s next?”

Sigrid raised her hand.  “Could you wait a while to marry me off?  I’ve got a few more years’ training with Ermon, and I’d like to concentrate on improving my skill for a while.”

“It’s already taken care of.  I’ve got an outline and four chapters written, so you’ve got about seven years?”

“Perfect!” the young girl grinned, and Bard and Thranduil appeared relieved.

“What about you, Bain?” I asked the boy. “Are you all right over there?”

“Pretty much.  I like how I get to ride my horse and practice with weapons.  But I don’t like all the studying I have to do.” His eyes silently pleaded.

“Sorry.  You’ve got to spend time on your education.  After all—”

“—I’ll be King one day,” Bain sighed dramatically.  Then he asked, “You said you have ‘Readers?’”

“I do.” I smiled.  “Those who comment tell me how much they love you guys.”

“Why are they?” Tilda asked.  “Do I know them?”

“Well, there’s Leemitage, and DarkenedProngs, Golden, PirateLawrence, The_Mighty_Bow, and Morvidra.  Sebby1027 has begun to write pretty regularly and kyuumihaira has said some terrific things about you guys.  There are a lot of others who comment, and I’m grateful for each and every one of them!”  My heart swelled with pride.  “The Barduil OTP has waned a bit in popularity, but I’m sticking with it, and so has TheMirkyKing.  Constantine_You_Owe_Me is my “Barduil Bro!”

“What do you mean Barduil has waned a bit?” Bard grabbed his husband’s hand with a worried expression.  “Are they trying to get rid of us?”

“No; it just means that fewer people are writing about your relationship now.”  I tried to be reassuring.  “I hate it too, but there are still some die-hard fans, and we won’t abandon you; I promise.”

”That’s good,” Tilda’s shoulders relaxed.  “Are your readers nice?”

“Oh, I think so.  Leemitage is a good friend who lives in the same country as Peter Jackson.”

“Who’s Peter Jackson?” Bard asked.

“He made the Hobbit movies, and hired Luke Evans to play your part.  He looks just like you, and Lee Pace looks almost exactly like Thranduil.” I shrugged.  “Personally, I think the two of you are much better-looking than they were.”

“I don’t get it,” Bain’s eyes furrowed.  “Who are those Luke Evans and Lee Pace? I don’t know them.”

“Actors.” I waved my hand dismissively.  “Don’t worry about it.  Anyway, who else has a request?”

Ruvyn leaned forward.  “Am I going to get a girlfriend?”

“Not yet; I’ve got plans for you, but it’s going to take a while and some things need to happen.”

“Do you know who?”

“I do, but no hints.” I shook my head. “Sorry.”

 “Why do I have to wait?” He whined.  “Daeron’s married, Ivran’s on his way to Lothlórien to marry his girl, and you just said Tur’s met his _fëa_ -mate.  What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“I understand, and I’m sorry, but I can’t keep up all these plot lines at the same time.  Please, Ruvyn; trust me?”

The Guardian was skeptical, but he nodded his head. 

“You can still be my favorite guard if you want,” Tilda smiled up at him.  “You’re my friend.”

Ruvyn stroked her hair. “I would be honored, My Lady.”

“I’ve got another question,” Bard crossed his arms.  “You had posted a story set fifteen years in the future…”

“Oh, you mean ‘Festival of Midsummer?’”

“Yes, that one!  Why did you take it down?”

“I would like to know that, as well,” Thranduil face was dark.  “We had grandchildren to play with, and suddenly they were gone!  You know how I enjoy babies!”

“I’m not sorry,” Bain made a face.  “You had me getting married. Bleh!”

I winced.  “I’m sorry about removing the story, but as I’ve been continuing with Two Thrones series, the Muse was leading me in different directions, and the story was obsolete.” I swallowed. 

“Seriously?” Hilda huffed.  “You’re going to blame it on a Muse?” She shook her head in disgust.  “This ‘victim language’ is beneath you, Wenderful.”

I swallowed down my growing nervousness.  “If it helps, I can tell you I’ll be using a lot of those storylines in future works, so you won’t be missing much.”

“Wait just a minute!” Bard’s tone was angry.  “Do you mean to tell me, the fate of my _entire_ _family_ _and_ _my_ _people_ are in the hands of something called a ‘Muse?’  So, you’re not in control, as you’ve led us to believe?”

“Is this ‘Muse’ one of the Valar?” Galion asked.  “I know “Irmo is in charge of dreams…”

“Well, not exactly.  Your Valar come from Middle Earth mythology; I’m referring to Greek myths…” I shook my head.  “You know what?  Let’s skip it…”

“But still, some other being, from this ‘Greek’ place—“

“Greece.  The place is called Greece.  There is also Roman, mythology, which was from the Roman Empi—“

“What the bloody fuck are you thinking!” the Bowman was upset.

 _“Language!”_ Everyone said in unison.

“And that’s another thing,” the Bowman continued, “Why did you write me with such a ‘potty mouth?’”

 _“I_ want to know why you gave me such a shitty childhood, and why I had to suffer through marriage to Garth?” Rhian added.  “Also, did it ever occur to you that maybe Garth _didn’t want_ to be an asshole?  A drunken wife-beater?  You didn’t even ask him!”

“But—“

“What about me?” Tilda spoke up. “You made me get really sick, and I couldn’t run and play for over a year!”

“And you frightened the bejeepers out of _everybody!”_ Hilda’s eyes were blazing. “I thought she was dying, and you put our baby in a wheelchair!”

 “Yeah!” Bain pounded the table.

“Well…” I tried to explain—

“You killed off my husband!” Adila burst into tears, and Hilda put her arm around the Harad woman.

“See?  Look what you’ve done!” Hilda skewered me with a filthy look.

“And you made my poor grandmother _beat me!”_ Rhys demanded.  “I don’t want to think about what you made my grandfather be like!   _And you made my aunt insane and commit suicide!_ What in Mordor is wrong with you, Lady?”

“And why in the world did you write us with _triplets_?” Elénaril wailed.  “I have not slept in months!”

“As long as we are on the subject of complaints,” the Elvenking’s voice boomed.  “I do not appreciate getting drunk at Daeron’s stag night.  You had me passing out in the streets!”

Sigrid gasped.  “You did?”

Bain and Rhys were clearly impressed.  “Whoa…” Rhys muttered. 

This was getting out of hand.   “All right, that’s enough!”  I stood up and did my best to look authoritative.  “Now look, people; let’s get one thing straight: _I_ am the author here, and I decide what you do, and when, and you _will_ do as I write you!”

“ _Do_   _not dare_  use that tone with me!” Thranduil was on his feet in an instant.  “I have been King of the Woodland Realm longer than even your parents have been alive, and you will treat me with the respect my station demands!”

“Maybe so, but you’re _my_ Elvenking and I’ll write you anyway I please!”  I sat back down and closed my eyes.  “Okay; let’s all stop and take a breath, shall we?”

No one took a breath, and they still looked mad, but at least they were quiet.

“Now Thranduil, I apologize for offending you, but I have reasons for writing you this way.   You have to admit, I’m making a point to write you differently than in the movies!”

 _“What_  movies?” He demanded. “Peter Jacks person?”

“ _‘Jackson’”_ I corrected. “It’s a long story,” I waved my hand.  “Suffice it to say, I want my readers to appreciate you as a multi-dimensional character, not the asshole Peter Jackson made you out to be!  I took great pains to resolve the gaps in Lee Pace’s portrayal, and help fans understand the depth of your pain.  When you are funny, it only endears you to my readers, and they love you all the more,” I explained.  “I also brought love into your life, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I gave you the ‘Elf Thing,’ for pity’s sake!  I wrote that just for you two!”

“Well, there is that…” Bard stroked his chin.  “I’d hate to give that up.”

“What’s a ‘Elf Thing?’” Tilda asked, again.

“Never you mind, Beanie.”  Bard smiled.  “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

I continued. “As to your concerns, yes, the Muse _gives_ me ideas, but it’s still up to me to follow them; it’s not an involuntary act.  Do you understand?”

“But you said you were ‘led’ by this creature, as if you had no choice but to follow!”

“Oh, that’s just an expression,” I told him.  “You know, like ‘Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle—“

“Stop!” Thranduil held up his hand.  “Do not finish that deplorable idiom!  I still cannot believe Bard allowed his own children to say such things!”

“Hey, don’t blame me!” The Bowman pointed at me. _“She_ wrote it!” He turned back to me with a sarcastic tone, “or was it ‘the Muses’ fault?” He made quotation marks with his fingers.

“Stop it, you.” I retorted.  “That gag got a lot of laughs!  And if I remember correctly, didn’t I write you both some fabulous ‘make-up sex?’”

“‘Fabulouser,’ make-up sex.” Bard gave his husband a leer.

“It really was,” Thranduil kissed Bard on the nose.

“Sweet Cheeses! Could you two stop?” Sigrid had covered Tilda’s ears again.

“Hey!  Cut it out, Sig!” The little girl wiggled out of her sister’s grasp.

“Can we please wrap this up?” I was getting tired of this.  “I am doing my best, here.  Keep in mind; I’ve only been writing about two years!  Yes, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m doing the best I can.  I’ll take all your requests, and give them some serious thought, okay?”

“That’s all we ask.” Hilda nodded.  “Right, gang?”

Everyone around the table nodded. 

“So, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back. I’ve got a dental appointment, and I’m behind schedule with my writing.” I turned toward Legolas. “I think I should tell you: I’m having surgery on my right hand on January 11th, so I might not post for a bit.”

“What is wrong, Lady Wenderful?” Ermon gave me a concerned look.

“I’ve got some Carpal Tunnel problems, and they need to fix it.” I told him.  “I’ve been putting it off for too long, and the Cortisone shots don’t work anymore.”

“If you like, I could take you to the Healing House…”

“I would love that, really I would, but whatever you accomplish won’t follow me back to my own world.” 

“If you are sure...” the Master Healer was skeptical.

“Trust me; I’d much rather be treated by Elves!” I chuckled.

Thranduil spoke up.  “I would like to thank you for asking [CreepyScientist](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/) for those illustrations of Tilda and myself.”

“So, you like them?” I grinned at Tilda.

“I LOVE THEM!” the little girl beamed.  “My favorite is when I kicked _Ada_ you-know-where!”

“That was _not_ my favorite, I must say.” The Elvenking admitted.  “But it was, as you say, an excellent ‘gag?’”

“I’ve enjoyed this meeting, but I’ve really got to get going.”  I stood up again, and gathered my papers.  “Thank you for inviting me. I’ll be seeing you on my laptop!  By the way, how do you like working with Microsoft Word?  I know people say ‘Times New Roman’ is an overused font, but I like to stick to the basics.  Unless you have a preference?  ‘Arial’ perhaps?”

“Times New Roman is fine by me,” Bard nodded.  “Anybody have a problem?”

Everyone at the table stood and bowed. “Thank you for coming,” Bard spoke for the group.  “Have a safe trip back, My Lady.”

“I hope you enjoy your year, guys, and I promise: next year we’ll have dinner at my house again!”

 “Yes!” Bain and Rhys bumped fists.

“Goodie!” Tilda jumped up and down. “Can we watch that movie about the Elk with the red nose again?”

“Of course you can, sweetie.  Only, his name is Rudolf, and he’s a Reindeer, not an Elk.”

“Oh.”

“We will look for your invitation.” Thranduil gave a gracious nod.  “I will contact Mithrandir to arrange for a portal, if you like.”

“That would be great. And I promise, I’ll be a bit more choosy about the guest list.”  I grinned as I tucked my briefcase under my arm. “Just a couple of things when you come: try not to chop down that tree in my yard again, all right? And Legolas? _I’ll_ provide the Christmas turkey, so you don’t have to shoot one and bring it with you – I don’t know how to pluck a bird.”

“You don’t?” The women looked at me like I had suddenly grown three more heads.  “The turkeys in your world are born without feathers?”

“Er…. Not exactly.  I’ll explain later.”  I waved.  “See You next year!”

 

I was escorted through the castle, and out of the Main Entrance.  After waving goodbye to the Guards, I walked through the Marketplace, and to the North Gates. 

“Farewell, Lady Wenderful!” The Elves on the ramparts smiled down at me.

“Bye!” I walked through the Iron doors, and saw Gandalf ahead, speaking with King Dáin.

“Ah!  Here you are!” the Wizard smiled.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Hello, Your Majesty,” I paid the King Under the Mountain courtesy.  “Are you enjoying the Yuletide season?”

“I am, lass.” The Dwarf shoved a package at me.  “Jus’ a bit o’ somethin’ for all ye’ve done fer me an’ my kin.” He chuckled and took my hand in his. “An’ thanks fer no’ making me an arsehole wi’ the Elves. That gets a bit tirin’ ye ken.”

“Oh, thank you!”  I gave him a peck on the cheek.  “How sweet.”

“From the looks o’ ye.  It might come in ‘andy.” He smirked.  “Yer welcome to come te the Mountain fer the Hogmany Feast.”

”Maybe next year,” I patted his hand. “Give your wife my best, all right?”

”Will do, lass.”

“Come along, Wenderful; we’re running out of time.” Gandalf urged gently.  He put his arm around my shoulders, and shoved me through the portal…

… and I landed with a thump on the floor of my living room.

“Ooh!” I rubbed my hip.  “He didn’t have to shove me that hard…”

I looked around my home with a sigh.  The colored lights from the Christmas tree were blinking merrily by the fireplace, and my laptop was sitting on the table beside my chair, where all my characters were waiting for me to write more about them.

I put my briefcase on the dining room table, and opened Dáin’s package.  It was a bottle of Scotch.

Perfect.

I went to the kitchen to find a tall glass.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, check out my Two Thrones Board on Pinterest— I’ve reorganized it and added cast members to update the story. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/wendyw0051/two-thrones-series-on-ao3/


End file.
